Noele crouches in front of the chair and covers my hand with hers. “Because at breakfast, Maman said you were keeping too many secrets. She wants you to tell her about your time with…himand I know you are not ready.”
My heart pounds painfully in my chest, like someone is squeezing it to the point of bursting. “She agreed to wait until Mateen was better.”
Noele sighs—one of those deep exhales that shakes her entire being. “I know,mon fleur.I do not think she realized how long that would take.”
I link our fingers. Noele’s are so pale, while mine are the only part of me besides my face that hold any color. Courtesy of the abayas and hijabs I was forced to wear every day for the past ten years. And the relentless Afghan sun. “One of my last memories from…before was of you sneaking back into the house at six in the morning. Do you remember that? You had been out with a boy, I think. Maman was so angry.”
“That was Frederick.” She shakes her head. “Quel idiot. His scooter ran out of gas. We had to walk home from the rave. Maman wanted to take my phone away, but you reminded her that without my phone, I would not be able to call her if I needed help.” Noele smiles, such warmth in her green eyes. “You were always protecting me.”
“And now you protect me.” We embrace, and I do not fight the tears burning my eyes. “How are you so wise beyond your years?”
“I wanted to be like you. Always.” She swallows her sob. For several minutes, we hold one another.
If we were alone, I would tell her everything. No matter how long it took. But with Mateen sleeping so close, confessions will have to wait.
She rises with the grace of a dancer. “I told the security guard with Maman and Papa to bring themhereafter the boat tour. You will be safe at the apartment until dinner time. Rest. Read a book. Watch television. Do something…you enjoy.”
“I do not know what that is any more. We had no movies. Only local television. No modern books.” The realities of my life with Faruk are too terrible to relive with Mateen still so sick. “I suppose I could call Nomar. He came to see us last night.”
“The hot guy who saved you in just his hospital gown?” Noele’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought he was still in Uzbekistan?”
“He was. Until yesterday.” Nodding at the new gaming system my son has clutched under his arm, I add, “Mateen likes him. I think…maybe that is why he slept better last night.”
Noele steals a glance at my son. “He has several treatments today, yes?”
“Only one. Tomorrow, though…he has three. By the weekend, you and I will be the only ones allowed to see him. We will need to wear protective equipment at all times so he does not get sick.”
“Then for today, you should be only Lisette,mon fleur.If Mateen asks for you, I will call. I promise.”
She’s right. Even if I do not know how to be…me. I stop to press my lips to Mateen’s forehead. “Be good,mon chou,”I whisper. “Mama will be back this afternoon.”
Noele settles in the chair next to his bed and pulls a book from her purse. She gives me a little wave through the window in the door, and I clutch my phone to my chest and practically run for the elevator.
* * *
The apartment is utterly silent.Vasquez, one of Ford’s men, insisted on checking the bedrooms and bathrooms for any threats, but then tells me he will wait outside for as long as I want to stay. I am safe here. The building is the most secure I have ever seen. There are cameras in the hallways, panic buttons hidden in every room, and we each have one on our phones.
Despite my exhaustion, I cannot sleep, so I make myself acafe au laitfrom the fancy machine in the kitchen and sink down onto a plush, beige couch with a view of the Charles River.
“You should be only Lisette.”
I have not been “only Lisette” since I let Faruk steal me away. I was a prisoner. A wife. A mother. No possessions of my own. No privacy. I made the best of that life, but it was notmine.
I used to love to paint. My talent was only passable, but it made me happy. I gave tours at theMusée des Beaux-Arts de Marseille—one of the few uses for an art history degree as I had no desire to teach at university. Perhaps after a shower, I will ask Vasquez if we can visit a museum. And an art store.
* * *
I stare at the closet,the bright colors and modern styles overwhelming and exciting at the same time. Choosing a pair of flared black pants and a striped sweater that exposes my collarbones, I stare at myself in the mirror. This little bit of rebellion should not make my palms damp.
Do not be silly. You are not rebelling against anything.
Except, I am.
“Cover yourself!”
I canfeelthe balled-up abaya hit me in the chest.HearFaruk’s harsh words.Seehis dark eyes flash with the threat of barely controlled rage.
“No. This is what I want to wear, and no one will stop me. He cannot touch me here.”
